Chapter Five

 

Culhwch

 

I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes. Looking to the right of me, I see a broad, muscular back. My eyes travel a path up his spine to his slightly shaggy brown hair, tousled from sleep—and plenty of hot, dirty sex in between naps. Or were they naps in between hot and dirty sex?

I feel utterly drained from what little sleep we got, and I have to rub my eyes again to make sure I’m not dreaming that he’s still here.

I have a feeling yesterday afternoon’s conversation will not be the last we talk about things. But I’ll do as little to talk about Ana as possible, knowing how much it hurts him. It physically pains him. He won’t say the R word. However, I’d say it was most definitely rape. He says that he wanted it at the time, and he wasn’t saying no. What they were about to do wasn’t non-consensual. Which makes her roofying him all the more puzzling. If he was going to sleep with her anyway, why would she do that? I have a feeling it was so that the question of protection wouldn’t come up and she’d get what she wanted—a baby by a rockstar.

What we did last night… and this morning… it wasn’t a mistake, but it’s something we need an honest conversation about.

I want Houston back in my life. But if that’s what he wants too, then it comes with conditions. I won’t be his dirty little secret again. I spent too long allowing myself to be a secret before. If we are to have a shot at a real relationship, he’ll need to tell his family, his bandmates and his friends that he’s gay.

I know that will be a major thing for him to do, but he needs to do it for himself, not for me. He needs to do it so he can stop living a lie. It’s been weighing heavily on him for so long now and he needs to be free to live his truth.

And if I take him back, boy, will there be fireworks. Sophia will hit the roof because she knows how badly I took it when things ended. Yes, it was me that finished it that day. But he’s since told me that he provoked that fight so that I would be the one to do the dumping. As if he was stupid enough to believe that somehow that would hurt less. But he knew what I knew—that fight had been coming for a while. He wasn’t going to come out to everyone, and I wasn’t going to be his secret anymore. There really was nowhere left for us to go.

Then there’s the whole Denny situation. He’ll have to tell people about him, even if he only tells his family. I know that’s not really up to me, but if he wants to live a life free of secrets, then it’s what he needs to do.

Houston’s story is not mine to tell. I have absolutely no intention of letting that particular cat out of the bag. Especially to Sophia, who happens to be married to his brother. But I want Houston to be able to be completely honest with his family. I don’t like secrets. I never have. I think they come back to haunt you, and it’s inevitable that they get out, so you should control the when, where and how. But—and that’s a big but—it’s his secret, his choice.

I’ve never told anyone about us, not even when we split up. That was not my right. So, I’m hardly likely to blab now. However, I think he needs some gentle persuasion, maybe. Some attempts to get him to get that particular monkey off his back.

A voice interrupts my thoughts. “Morning, gorgeous.”

“Morning. Did you sleep okay?” I ask as I trail a finger down his spine.

“What little sleep I got, yeah. Slept like a log. But…” he trails off with a salacious grin. I know what’s coming but I wait for him to ask me. “I’m sure you could help wake me… if you took a shower with me.”

“Now there’s an offer I’d be a fool to refuse.”

***

After our morning shower, we ate a light breakfast and I got ready for work. Houston has no clothes here, obviously, but luckily for him we wear the same size since I’ve been hitting the gym. So, he borrowed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and promised to return them tonight.

I have to admit, he wears my clothes well. Better than I do. There’s something about that man in my tight jeans that does delicious things to my libido. But then I think he could wear a bin bag and still look decidedly fuckable. Saying that to his face would earn me an eyeroll, but that doesn’t mean I can’t think it.

I’ll be honest, I’m letting him come back tonight for a couple of reasons. I’m the only person he has in his corner right now, the only person he can be totally honest with until he plucks up the requisite courage to brave telling everyone else. And also, because we can be friends. I mean, sure, I still love him, and I would love for us to be more, but the least I can do for him right now is be the friend he needs backing him.

It’s hot as hell in here and the smoke is everywhere. This structure fire is a beast. We need to see if there’s anyone else in the building before beginning to tackle the fire properly. Mike and I are clearing the back room, where it seems like the smoke is the thickest. Even through my uniform, I can feel the heat from the flames that are consuming everything in their path.

“Fire department, call out,” I say as loud as I can.

We were told someone was back in this room, but the smoke is so dense, it’s hard to see past the end of my own nose.

“Fire department, call out,” I repeat.

I hear a muffled sound and head in that direction. As I make my way further back into the room, I see a guy slumped on the floor, his back against the wall.

His leg appears pinned by something; I need to get closer to make out what.

Mike comes into view and calls out like I did. It’s then that he notices the guy and heads straight for him.

I make my way over to join him. I notice the guy is unconscious. That makes things harder. We’ll have to unpin him and one of us will have to carry him out. Thank goodness I’m not the scrawny guy I used to be.

Mike and I get into position to move the obstacle pinning the guy—it looks like some sort of metal shelving—without needing to speak. We’ve worked together so long that he knows what runs through my head. Plus, it’s pretty obvious what needs doing.

“Ready on my count, Mike?”

“Ready lieutenant,” he confirms.

“One, two, three.”

I have to put my back into it. It’s heavier than it looks.

Once we have the shelving out of the way, I confirm to Mike that I’ll take the guy outside while he continues to clear the room.

I change my mind about carrying him out. The smoke is thicker, and I can’t promise not to bump into something.

I manoeuvre him so I’m able to stand behind him and grab him under the armpits. I have to get him out of here as fast as possible. He’ll already be suffering from smoke inhalation and I don’t want it to get worse.

The guy begins to cough as I pull him out into the fresh air. I quickly get him to the waiting paramedics before radioing Mike for an update.

“All clear lieutenant,” he calls as comes walking out of the front door.

Making sure all my men are out, I start to direct them to get this fire under control.

***

On the drive home, I decide to blast away the cobwebs with some music—played maybe a little too loud.

Backstreet Boys’ song “Quit Playing Games (With My Heart)” plays and I sing along, probably pretty off-key. Houston is the rockstar after all. I’m just a firefighter; singing isn’t my forte.

Seeing his car on the driveway makes my pulse race. I told him earlier where I kept my spare key as he said he’d be back before me.

Walking through the front door, I hear a familiar tune coming from the kitchen.

“Honey, I’m home,” I call as I stand in the doorway, watching him shake his ass as he dances around my kitchen.

It smells like he’s cooking something, which is totally unexpected. But having rushed through my lunch and not getting to eat it all, I find I’m absolutely starving.

“Whatcha cooking, good looking?” I ask as he dances his way over to me and wraps me in a hug.

“Something meaty and delicious… just like you,” he adds as he kisses the tip of my nose and dances his way back to the cooker.

“I don’t even get a kiss hello. What the…?” I trail off with a pout, that I then realise he can’t see with his back turned to me.

I walk over and give him my best pout and then I go for the jugular with my puppy-dog eyes.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t want the lasagne to burn. Or the garlic bread, come to that.”

“I didn’t have the stuff in for lasagne, and I sure as shit didn’t have any garlic bread. Can’t remember the last time I ate it.”

“I bet you I can. The last time you ate my lasagne. You always said they made the perfect pairing.”

“Quite likely. Which brings me back to… you went shopping?”

“Sure did. Looked through the cupboards this morning while you were signing for that parcel. I saw you had nothing I fancied eating.”

I know what I said about not being in a relationship with each other until he’s able to be open about us to family and friends, but seeing him here in my kitchen, cooking for me… well nobody said we couldn’t be friends.

No, I’ll never settle for being just a friend to him, and at some point, we really need to talk about that. But after the day I’ve had, coming home to a homecooked meal and a bottle of wine is something very much needed.

“Someone got their caffeine boost today then. You were looking a little baggy around the eyes this morning,” I quip.

“You cheeky little…” he chases me with the wooden spoon dripping in the tomatoey sauce he was stirring.

I get to the doorway before he wraps his arms around me, and he smears tomato sauce across my white T-shirt.

“Y-you just smeared me with that sauce,” I turn around and pin him with a hard stare.

He looks genuinely contrite… until he smears it across me again, on purpose this time.

“You little shit.”

I stalk towards him, and he backs up until he bumps into the kitchen island. In the next moment, we’re a tangle of limbs, a clash of teeth, duelling tongues.

As we break the kiss and come up for air, I notice the sauce rubbed off on his T-shirt too, and now I feel triumphant.

“You better get used to getting dirty, because every time I see you, I’m going to get you good and dirty.”

He laughs as he turns back to keep his eye on the food.

“Oh, I forgot to mention, there’s a bottle of white chilling in the fridge.”

I fetch two glasses and pour us both a generous glassful, before picking mine up and taking a swig. It’s crisp and delicious. Just what I need after one long-ass migraine of a day.

“So, you’re home from touring. What’s next?” I ask as we sit at the kitchen island, eating his delicious lasagne.

“We’re in the studio, recording the next single and preparing for the next album. Lawrence has been on my ass about staying out late and not being on the ball the next morning, so I guess I have to stop doing that.”

“When do you go away again?”

“We have a year before the next tour. We’re back on home turf until then. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have to bust our balls. Lawrence wants at least another three songs written and ready to record—and I quote—like motherfucking yesterday. Lord knows why because we have time, but he’s just being his usual pain in the ass self.”

We make small talk as we finish our meal, but I can’t help but think that Houston seems distracted.